


No Words

by ununoriginal



Category: GLAY
Genre: M/M, One Shot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2001-07-02
Updated: 2001-07-02
Packaged: 2017-12-14 09:42:20
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 739
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/835488
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ununoriginal/pseuds/ununoriginal





	No Words

I could hear the idle plucking of a guitar as I approached the door.  The smell of smoke hit me the moment I entered.  A glance at the ashtray showed me that it was crammed to overflowing with cigarette butts.  Obviously things had come to a standstill in the studio for quite some time.

Hisashi raised his eyes momentarily, meeting my gaze for a fleeting moment before lowering his head to his fingers again, silent.  Outwardly, he looked pretty calm, like it was any other normal day.  Same old expressionless Hisa – nothing could get to him. 

But the number of cigarette butts, one still smouldering on the coffee table by his elbow – and the snapped string on his guitar indicated otherwise.  Of course he would be affected, just like everyone else. 

Indifference was impossible on this day.

I cleared my throat before speaking.  “You al—”

“He’s inside,” Hisashi cut me off before I got a chance to finish my query of concern, jerking a thumb in the direction of the studio proper.

“Uh… yeah, thanks…” I mumbled as I made my way past him to the far side of the room, where the studio entrance was.  My hand paused on the doorknob when I heard movement behind me.

“Where’re you going?” I asked, though I thought I already half-knew the answer.

“Home.  I think we’re not going to be doing anymore recording today.”  Hisashi had set aside his damaged guitar and started dumping his stuff into a small haversack.  “Teru’s coming by to pick me up soon.  I’ll just leave the two of you alone.”

“Oh, okay…”  I made no move, still standing there watching him pack up and head the way I had came.

Before leaving, he turned and gave me a level stare, holding my gaze long enough for me to start fidgeting, a little awkward.  “He’s taken it quite hard.”

I nodded dumbly.

Seemingly satisfied by whatever reassurance I’d appeared to project, he left quietly, his footsteps muffled by the carpet lining the corridor.

Drawing a deep breath, I brought my concentration back to the door in front of me, and the person who was on its other side.  This was not good.  If Hisashi, the master of understatement, gave a verdict of “quite hard”, it must be the end of the world in there…

I expelled my breath in a little sigh.  _That’s why you came, Jiro, get on with it._   I turned the knob and pushed the door open, rapping the wooden surface at the same time.  “Takuro?  It’s me, Jiro.”

He was on the floor, leaning against one of the amps, cradling his guitar, hands still.  His head was thrown back, as if he were asleep, but his eyes were wide open, staring sightlessly into a distance I could not see.

I stepped closer.  “Takuro?”  I couldn’t keep the thread of worry from my voice.  Although appearance-wise, he seemed pretty fine – a little exhausted, but that was pretty common after three to four days in the studio – yet there was something missing in the aura.  Something that I always sensed when I was near him.  The drive, the determination, the zest for life and its challenges.  Just… not there.

The grief and despair in the room was palpable.

Quietly, I crossed the space between us and settled down beside him on the floor.  “Hey, man, talk to me.”  I laid a hand on his shoulder, giving him a small shake.

After a few moments, he roused sluggishly, turning his head to look at me.  “Oh, hey, Jiro… you’re here…”

“I came as soon as I heard.”

“We heard it on the radio earlier.  I couldn’t believe it at first…”  I didn’t say anything, willing him to go on, to let it all out, with my silence.  “None of us could believe it.  We thought I could be a media gimmick, you know?  So I called Sugi, see if he knew anything, and he was utterly, utterly distraught.”

Takuro paused, closing his eyes.  “It’s over.  Yoshiki’s flying back.  The show is over.”

There were no words I knew to make it right.  So I just drew closer and placed my hand over the back of his where it lay between the two of us, giving a gentle squeeze of support. 

After a while, his hand turned over and his fingers interlaced with mine.

We sat there in silence for the rest of the night.


End file.
